


Meet the Sheriff

by Stormysaslytherin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Family Dinner, I feel like Derek would be worried about meeting the Sheriff, M/M, Sheriff being an over protective father, after all their first encounter wasn't under the greatest of terms, unedited for the most part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormysaslytherin/pseuds/Stormysaslytherin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek goes to the Stilinski house for a "meet the parents" dinner. </p>
<p>Part of Boozicals the Musicals or a series of short drunken ramblings</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet the Sheriff

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of a drunken Teen Wolf Bingo writing prompt.
> 
> Prompt: Meet the Parents
> 
> I don't own them blah blah blah. Fairly unbetaed.

Derek doesn’t want to go. He will for Stiles but he doesn’t want to go. Despite the “it will be fine” and “he doesn’t hate you, I promise” Derek still doesn’t want to go. This man has a gun. A live fire arm that, while it won’t kill Derek, will hurt like a motherfucker, both outside and in.

They make it to the door and Derek just wants to run, run like there are a thousand hunter behind him wanting to kill him.

Stiles opens the door and walks right in, why wouldn’t he, it’s still his house, but Derek is paralyzed on the other side of the threshold, kanima venom paralyzed. Stiles just huffs and takes his hand, dragging him inside.

There is a table of food waiting for them, heaps of taco fixings in various bowls around the dining room table. Derek can smell the fatty ground beef and the sharp cheese. There is even a glass of whiskey at two of the seats, Stiles isn’t technically old enough to drink yet, two more months Stiles would remind him.

Derek’s eyes zero in on the gun sitting on the table. The safety is off and it gives off the smell of gunpowder. It was recently fired. It also rests inches away from the Sheriff’s hand. Derek tugs back on Stiles’ hand because his father is watching him with a look that terrifies Derek more than the idea of a spandex clad Peter doing jazzersize videos in his apartment. Derek shook that image out of his head; he was sure Peter had called him over just because of that image.

“Hello Derek,” Stiles’ dad says, sipping his whiskey.

The alpha pack should have just killed him, he would have been better off.


End file.
